


Calling

by Snowmane



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Calling, Contest Entry, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowmane/pseuds/Snowmane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My own interpretation of the "Calling" at the end of a Grey Warden's life. No further warnings but some spoilers for the game. Originally written for tishaia's fanfiction contest at DeviantArt.com, partly re-done for better continuity.</p><p>Twenty years after the Arch Demon is defeated two Grey Wardens take their farewell from family and friends to fight side-by-side one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling

“Join us brothers and sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  
Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.  
And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

She stood there, eyes closed and fists clenched and listened to the man’s voice. She had always liked his voice, the slight accent, the light-hearted undertone as if he was about to crack a joke with the very next sentence. Allowing her mind to drift away from the here and now, remembering how they first met. His voice was deeper now and a bit frayed on the edges – the tone of a man past his best years. But still powerful enough to fill the small stone hall, the echo resounding from ancient walls like distant thunder.

”And that one day we shall join you.”

The end of the traditional speech left the room in complete silence. She dared not to open her eyes, afraid there would be no holding back of the tears burning in them. More seconds passed and her fine ears caught the sound of shuffling feet and rustling clothes as the others started to shift their weight uncomfortably from side to side. She heard the unmistakable noise of heavy boots coming down the rostrum and moving next to her. An armoured hand laid down on her upper arm, squeezing it softly in a tender gesture. Finally, the elf opened her eyes and straightened her back into the bearing of calm self-confidence she had been training since years. She did not turn her head to look into her brother-in-arms’ face but stared straight ahead were the giant banner hung unmoving between two stone pillars. The big silver chalice in front of it had sealed her fate years ago. No, she corrected herself while her eyes traced the outlines of the huge silver griffon on the blue cloth behind it. It had started a few weeks earlier when she and Tamlen had hunted forbidden prey.  
A tight grin appeared on her face as she slowly placed her shaking fist on her heart and knelt before the banner.  
“I thought a Dalish would never bow?” Her companion’s witty banter was as misplaced as ever. She had missed it more than she would admit.  
“We don’t. But we know to give honour to whom honour is due.” The woman was relieved how steady her own voice sounded.  
With an approving grunt he knelt down beside her, his now crownless head bowing deep to the ground. The two Grey Wardens remained in this position for a minute that felt like an hour, both captured in their own train of thought. The returned nightmares had brought back memories of their time together during the blight. But when the voices wouldn’t stop hunting her during daytime and the bittersweet song filled her heart with a longing no longer to be contained she knew it would come to an end soon.  
They stood up simultaneously, heads raised high and every inch of them demanding the due respect: King of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey. Slayers of the Archdemon. Heroes of the Fifth Blight. The few people who surrounded them and which eyes were now fixed on the unlike couple would not see them shake or cry. Their story deserved a better ending.  
Cloaked in respectful silence she walked down the aisle to fetch her armour and weapons. The moment the elf stopped in front of the weapon rack, hesitating only for a heartbeat or two, she felt a pair of hands gently dropping down on her shoulders. Hardening her heart she turned around and looked into a pair of amber eyes. No words were needed; they had said their good-bye the night before. Regardless she felt her eyes filling up with tears and a familiar lump in her throat as he pulled her close one last time.  
“Good bye, my lovely Grey Warden.” How he managed to smile was beyond her knowledge.  
“Not a farewell, _ma’salath_. I’ll never be far away from you.” She kissed him in a hopeless attempt to hide the tears running down her face.  
He said nothing in return but slowly loosened his grip, reaching for the leather armour on the rack. She felt as if all her limbs had gone numb, silently watching him as he collected corselet, gloves, arm and leg pieces. It was the same armour she had worn slaying the Archdemon so long ago. Its holes and scratches had been skilfully mended but still it was telling an obvious story of long and painful battle.  
The Warden stood still as he carefully placed each piece on her body, adjusting straps and closing buckles. Oblivious to whoever else was in the room she tried to remember every detail: The scar in his left hand, pale on otherwise copper skin; a single strain of blonde hair that made its way out of his orderly braid and fell into his face. The smell of expensive Antivan leather that she never really came to care for - but which would forever remind her of the assassin who missed his target only to become the most important person in her life.  
As his fingers brushed away a few wild hairs from her forehead her numbness ended and she reached up to her left ear. With shaking hands she opened the small earring and placed it in his right hand. Twenty years ago it had been a gift, given between stolen kisses and the long hours in the night when the dreams of the Archdemon hunted her and Zevran watched over her unsettled sleep. A gift that turned into a proposal none of them really believed in. It had been her hope, a small piece of a possible future between raging hordes of darkspawn and death lingering in every corner. Her finger glided over the uneven surface. Years alone in Amaranthine had followed, then a hunt through whole Thedas which found its spectacular end on a moonlit rooftop in Antiva’s market district. A slow smile appeared on her face. The metal was scratched and tarnished, the engravings made for their wedding nearly invisible now. But it never broke, never got lost. Since twenty years it had remained in its place but now it was time to give it back to its previous owner. She locked eyes with her husband, closing his fingers around it with her own ever so softly.  
“Keep it”, he persisted, wrapping his second hand around hers and giving it a tight squeeze, “It will remind you of me.”  
“How could I ever forget a single thing about you?” She gave him a long, sad smile. “I can not bear the thought it might end up in some Hurlock’s possession. Take it with you, away from here.”  
He nodded, slowly, deep in thought. She kissed him one more time before slipping her hand out of his grasp. As she saw his fist tighten around the token she took a few quick steps away from him. A long farewell would only deepen the wounds.  
She saw Alistair reaching out for his shield and sword, Anora and the children by his side. He had not wanted them to come down here, but the queen was as stubborn as her people and apparently their offspring had inherited a similar set of mind. The two women gave each other a short nod in acknowledgement before the human pulled her youngest son to her chest to wipe his tears away.  
“Ready to go?” Alistair let out a deep sigh as he walked towards her.  
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” For a moment she saw herself reflected in his steel breast plate: Once raven black hair changed to grey, the tan of the Antivan sun no longer being able to hide the dark blood vessels underneath her skin. The dark eyes, once burning with her well-known temper, had started to cloud, the shadows on the edge of her vision growing deeper every day. The elf looked up into the once handsome features of the former King of Ferelden and found the same weariness in them. But he nodded again and made his way towards the small gate which was hurriedly opened for them.  
It was a silent procession; nobody cheered or welcomed them with a loud shout. The few dwarfs which were around this hour in the morning bowed their heads and averted their eyes. She didn’t care. It felt like somebody else was walking down the steps to the Deep Roads entrance, as if she could see the whole scene from an outer perspective. Zevran stayed behind as the doors opened with an eerie noise and a gush of stale air blew in their faces. She turned, weaved and grinned and he did the same. Her heart fluttered, like it always did when he smiled and then the doors slammed close and darkness wrapped itself around the two Grey Wardens.

Alistair lit a torch and held it high over his head. He took a few deep breaths, his hands shaking and his footing unsteady because of his trembling knees. A cold shiver crept over her spine and the elf bit her lips to stop herself from making any noise. She always had hated being this deep under the surface and the Deep Roads did nothing to relieve that feeling. But she also always had been good at turning fear into anger and so she stiffened up and started walking right into the darkness with a huffy snort. There was no sense in breaking now, so shortly before the end. Alistair followed her, the torch throwing ghostly shadows at the walls around them. With each step she felt further away from the world, as if she was miles deep under the earth already and not only a short march away from the gate. They did not talk with each other and so the grey stone walls provided blank canvases for the pictures her memory brought up. Her mind wandered to those left behind. Zevran would grieve alone, in silence as he always did. The few of her friends and companions who were still around had said their good-byes and last wishes. Others had gone before her, like Wynne and Sigrun, or vanished from the world’s surface, as Morrigan had done it, taking her child with her. She often wondered what became of her former companions. If her dog had had the honour of guarding the newly appointed Arishok or if Anders ever missed them after he ran away. If Nathaniel’s unborn son would have his eyes and his mother’s hair and if Leliana ever went back to Orlais and found Marjolane. So many questions that were still unanswered, so many things left to do. But the walls continued, ever grey and ever going downwards, deeper into the earth and they did not have the decency to give her any answers.

It was maybe around the evening of the tenth day when they first sensed tainted blood other than the one running through their own veins. There was no way to tell the time in the never-ending darkness of the Deep Roads and the craving hunger they both felt might or might not have something to do with how many hours had passed since their last meal. If she was honest to herself she could not even remember how it felt not to be hungry.  
“It’s almost like in the beginning” Alistair said while loosening the straps around his sword and fastening the shield to his arm. His voice was hoarse from not being used since days. They had not known what to talk about and spent their time in silence. But the chance of nearing battle lifted the mood.  
“We both looked better back than”, she commented, an arrow between her teeth while she searched for her bowstring.  
“I can’t argue that.” He flashed a smile, broad and honest for the first time since what felt like an eternity. “I like your hair as long as it is now, though.”  
“Flatterer.”  
“I prefer the term ‘charming’ for it.”  
“Whatever makes you sleep at night, _shem_ ”, she teased him, remembering her first reaction towards the tall human when they met at Ostagar.  
“Says the knife-ear with the temper of a blighted dragon.”  
“Touché.” She adjusted the bow and attached the first arrow whilst looking down the tunnel. “Although I wasn’t the ‘old hag who talks too much’ which turned into a full-blown high dragon, if I remember correctly, my old friend.”  
“Honestly, I do not need to be reminded of that one, thanks.”  
It had been a stupid thing to look towards the torch while talking to him; her eyes had gone blind for the thick black hole in front of her. Angrily she furrowed her brow and squinted. Did something just move in there?  
Caught flat-footed, the elf gave out a surprised cry when the warrior suddenly pulled her in a tight embrace. “I’m happy I’m not alone down here. As awful as it sounds.”  
She had to swallow hard, slowly turning her gaze away from the path in front of them. All the fear and sorrow hidden under their playful banter came back to her as she rested her forehead against the polished metal.  
“I’m glad to have you here, too. And Alistair?”  
“Yes?”  
“Don’t let them… take me. I don’t want to end up… like this.” In all her sleepless nights nothing has haunted her more than the memories of the brood mothers they had encountered over the years. It was angst, a panic beyond words that filled her every time she thought about it.  
“I won’t. I’ll make sure they will not get you.” His voice was serious this time.  
“Thank you.”  
“For Ferelden?” He chuckled deep in his chest; she could feel the vibration even through the thick layers of armour.  
“For Ferelden, my friend.”  
They let go of each other and strode down the path. Her heart started drumming and blood sung in her ears as she readied herself for the coming battle. With each step she felt lighter. It was all going to be over soon. Alistair would take care of her if needed. All tears and sorrows vanished as she set her mind to the one goal left – to kill without self-regard. She might die today but so would at least four dozen darkspawn. No, more. A predatory smile appeared on her face, her eyes glistening. Four dozens weren’t merely enough. Five, six? The pain of old wounds and bones broken and healed too many times flooded away from her, became unimportant as she reached for the corruption of her own blood to turn it against their enemy. Seven dozen. Seven was a good number.

_Hahren na melana sahlin, emma ir abelas.  
Elder, your time has come, I am now filled with sorrow._

Alistair was by her side; surprisingly fast in his heavy armour. It took only a short look to see that the oncoming bloodshed had a similar effect on him as it had on her.

_Souver'inan isala hamin.  
Weary eyes need resting._

Her feet flew over the ground, barely touching the stone. She ran as if she was a young hunter again, launching herself into the air with the next powerful stride. Her bow seemed to act on its own will, experienced in battle as much as she was. The arrow hit a Hurlock before it even knew what was coming over them.

_Vhenan him dor'felas - in uthenera na revas.  
The heart has become grey and slow - in the waking dream lies freedom._

Blood spilled over her as Alistair rammed his shield into his first opponent, fighting off a second with his sword. She took out a third darkspawn behind him before searching the group for emissaries or other more dangerous enemies. She hadn’t felt so alive, so thriving on every shallow breath since a long time. Soon the ground was covered in blood and dead bodies as they broke through the monster’s hastily formed lines.

_Vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera…  
We sing, rejoice, we tell the tales…_

She jumped into the opening, following her brother in arms. There was more darkspawn coming, maybe they had a base nearby. Between blood and gore she started to smell moss and rotting wood. The aromatic scent of old trees and clear streams running deep in a forest lingered in her nose. She heard laughter, but wasn’t sure if it was her own. The world started to spin and she loved it, planting arrows left and right and harvesting death all around.

_…vir samahl la numin.  
…we laugh and cry._

Her vision blurred and then the world faded into darkness as the torch fell down and the last flames went out. She thought she saw a pair of amber eyes glistening in the shadows but she must have been mistaken. The elf closed her eyelids and switched to a pair of long knives, trusting herself to instincts seasoned by Zevran’s endless lessons and years and years of combat. There was something hot running down her neck, a sharp pain between her rips and the sudden taste of copper on her tongue. But it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did.

_Vir lath sa'vunin.  
We love one more day._

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that English is not my native tongue. I tried my best to get rid of the worst mistakes but I am sure there are still flaws in this fic. Please, feel free to point them out so I can correct them. And apologies in advance for me abusing the English language.
> 
> Poem/song used is "In Uthenera" from the Dragon Age soundtrack as well as in-game lore.
> 
> I had a hard time writing this but the concept of the calling struck me the first time I heard about Dragon Age and keeps haunting me ever since. I kept changing the farewell scene because I felt I wasn't giving this sad moment the due heaviness and importance. But on the other hand I never imagined Zevran or my Warden to be the kind of person to burst out in tears in public and at least in my head the "calling" is nothing that suddenly comes over you. I always imagined it as something like a slow illness, giving both couples time to think - and feel - things through and make their preparations.  
> I'm also aware that the life span mentioned in-game is thirty years, not twenty. But they did not only have close and long contact with the Taint during the blight, Mahariel was tainted before even becoming a Warden and slaying the Arch Demon together surely added to it as well. Just my interpretation.  
> Oh, and Troll is the Marbari hound as you might have figured. It's another silly headcanon of mine, but I like to imagine my Warden never bound with the hound at Ostagar. It had lost its master but was wise enough to help the two remaining Wardens as long as they needed it. I always thought it might follow Sten back to Par Vollen as its actual new master (like the dog will do when you choose the "Ultimate Sacrifice") and my Warden maybe bound with one of its pups (there are some mentioned at the beginning of the Witchhunt DLC) later on. Just me spinning my tales.


End file.
